Coming to terms with being transgender/nonbinary, taking both high school and college classes, and struggling with mental illness is hard enough as it is, but only gets harder when three different people on three different days cause what little self

The night was March 12th, 2017. I was 18 years old and in the home stretch of my high school career. I was studying a couple classes at the University of M. I had become close to the Teaching Assistant

I was raped by a Fraternity man who I was actually very close friends with. I knew the majority of the men in the Frat and had spent every day with them for months. I considered them to be some of my closest friends. I had told this one particular man that I did not ever plan on hooking up with him.

When I was 8 a boy that was 10 touched my butt almost everyday.When I was 9 that same boy in my class shoved me into a corner and shoved his hand into my shirt.Right now I am still scared of anything potentially happening.

She found me in my unclothed, paralyzed state and pulled me to ‘safety’ in a muddled manner. No questions asked we just left the party. The next day I reflected on that night and saw it as a personal failure.

I tried collecting myself to text a friend to let them know where I was and what had happened, but I couldn't focus or coordinate myself. I have no idea how long I was in the washroom for. It couldn't have been for long, but what I can remember about that part of the night is that two people escorted me out the club through the back door away from my friends.

But when I woke up at 6AM him fingering me and trying to cram his dick inside me, I don’t think I consented to that. When I tried to roll over to the other side, to cross my legs, to avoid it as much as possible, I don’t think I consented to that. When he said “oh you don’t like that, huh” and continued, I really don’t think I consented to that.

How the fuck did I get in this situation? I was working really hard not to get this fucked. I worked so hard to not be a whore. Does this act make me a whore? A slut? I am a whore. I am a slut. Why the fuck did I even talk to this guy. Why the fuck did I get myself into this situation. This situation sucks. Not knowing anything sucks. I hate this. I will never know what really happened.

I woke up in the morning sore and covered in scrapes. My friends were all discussing the night before and my best friend said she couldn’t find me for like an hour and then she saw me coming out of the forest wearing pants that were way too big on me. She said I couldn’t even speak properly and I had stripes of blood on my cheeks. She immediately took me to take a morning after pill.

Then he was done.He told me I couldn’t tell anybody about this and I said I wouldn’t.I wasn’t very smiley anymore.I tried to fit in as much as I could and act normal.But let me tell you it was hard and it is hard to keep things like that a secret.

He started backing me up against the wall.I new what he was doing.He was not just playing a game.He started tugging at my shirt.I kept shouting no and kept pushing him away.Then he threw me the ground and started undressing me.I kept telling him no and kept smacking him.

Clothes were taken off and kisses were exchanged as we moved to her bed. Once naked, I realized it was too much for me and told her I wanted to stop and sleep. She initially agreed but soon resumed her touching and groping.

I began to panic that I wasn't going to get out. He wasn't going to let me leave. I asked if I could go to the toilet. I had the crazy idea that I would just run. But he came with me. He sat outside the toilet door. I started to cry in the toilet. There was literally no escape. I didn't even have my shoes. He started banging on the door and told me to hurry up. When I opened the door, he walked me back to his bedroom.

In sixth grade, I was walking to my desk, right in front of a teacher, and a guy slapped my ass and called me his bitch. The teacher looked away and pretended she never saw. I asked her why she didn't do anything, and she said "boys will be boys".

Eventually he asked for sex. I said no. He kept trying to convince me. I said no. He gave up and went back to kissing. Later i got ready to go to bed and put on a pair of shorts. He kept touching my ass and fooling around but I kept saying no sex. I felt a sharp pain inside me and i cried out. He had forced himself inside me.

But at this point it wasn’t really even my body anymore. It was his. He had control of it, and that’s all it I was to him. A body. A limp lifeless body. It felt as if he had taken my humanity away from me, as if I wasn't even a person anymore, as if I was just a thing.

I just sat in my friend’s room naked crying until he came back. He came in and asked where my clothes were and I explained I didn’t know what happened but that someone was in the room with me and left as soon as I figured out what was going on.

I keep seeing him around college and around town and every time I see him I get tight in my chest and want to throw up, even though I'm not sure if it was even rape or assault or if it was just two teens under a bridge.

It takes a long time to deal with the feelings of shame and hurt inside your mind. I have spent the last few years working on myself, and I’ve become closer to my 16 year old self. Despite what happened to her, she was positive, curious and creative. I wasn’t always as kind as I should have been. My first instinct was to fight back, and push away others, something I couldn’t do to my abuser. I was not a bad person, I was hurt. I needed help, not hate.

I washed my hands furiously to try to rid myself of this overwhelming feeling of being dirty.
At age fifteen, I didn’t know this was a crime. I didn’t know what sexual assault was. I just knew that what happened was not okay.

I didn't really know that it "counted" as rape. He cuddled up to me after raping me, and that hurts so much when I remember that. How dare he? It hurt me for so long. It is hard to tell people, especially when they tell me to move on, or be stronger.

However,Deepika also revealed her depression story,in 2013,after which I revealed my depression status to the society in 2012. Are there same people with same feelings? Is Deepika inspired my story or Am I inspired by her.

In May of this year I was raped. I always thought it was not possible for me to be raped. Not because I was strong, but because my boyfriend, Allan (*All names in this story have been changed), was always

Know this happened at the Pennsylvania State University, at the frat DKE. I was 18 years old. —————————————————————————————————————————————————— Nail biting. A nasty nervous habit I have had since I can remember. I guess you could say I am a nervous

Hi, my name is Erica. On November 4th, 2008, the day the results of the presidential election were announced, I was sexually assaulted. It was a Tuesday night. Myself and a couple of friends were at “The Irish Times,” across

I was so confused. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know who was kissing and touching me. I didn’t know why. I was trying to push him off of me but I couldn’t. My arms weren’t working. I kept trying to sink down in my mattress and disappear to get away, but that wasn’t working either.

I remember you putting your hand on my leg, making me obviously uncomfortable. I moved away from you, but that didn’t matter to you. You kissed me, for reasons that I still don’t understand. The more I tried to get away from you, the more you came towards me.

I went through the worst experience of my life and it took many, many things from me. It took my happiness for over a year, I lost my salaried job, I lost my apartment, I wasn't able to attend classes regularly, I didn't want to leave bed… everything reminded me of what happened and I feared running into him or his friends.

I lay in that cold closet. Alone. The darkness comforts me for some reason, it's funny. I felt tears dry on my face, and blood was all over my legs and upper thighs. "I was just raped by a teacher" I thought that retched day.

For the longest time I had a regret and blamed myself. I didn't realize until now that I couldn't have done anything differently besides for being more careful of what I drank. I realized it wasn't my fault.

The When You're Ready Project is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories and have their voices heard, finding strength in one another. When you're ready to share your story, we will be here.